Around the holiday season there are a multitude of things I look forward to: the festive decorations, displaying my slightly obscene collection of 30 plus Nutcrackers, all the calorie-laden sweet treats, time with family and friends, and of course, the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. If you are unfamiliar with this little gem, suffice to say it is a phantasmagorical display of the most unearthly, stunning models on the planet rocking feathery, lacey lingerie fanfare accompanied by live music, celebrities, and plenty of bling. As I was Googling to find the date of this year’s fete, my youngest told me she had heard it was cancelled. This was confirmed with my online search and made me utter my quintessential “What the actual FUCK?!” catch phrase out loud. Say it isn’t so.
Upon further Scooby Doo-style investigating I was able to discover details surrounding this travesty. Apparently ratings last year were at their lowest and Victoria’s Secret had been scrutinized for not including curvy body types and transgender models. There was a “lack of body diversity”. I'm sorry but AND??? It’s about to get heated in here so someone hold my beer….
Our society has slid down the proverbial shitter and we have become a nation of, in my estimation, complete PUSSIES. Yeah, I said it. The constant need to, God forbid, offend anyone, always be 100% politically correct, to make everyone feel all warm and fuzzy at all costs, to essentially give everyone a shiny participation ribbon for just being alive is making me stabby and wanting to scream. THIS IS NOT HOW LIFE WORKS, PEOPLE!!! Nobody is going to give you a really good job just because you want it or feel like you deserve it. No teacher is going to just give you an A because even though your paper was plagiarized trash you submitted it on time and need an A to keep your GPA up. No credit agency is going to be like “You know, you said you MEANT to pay your bill but the money just wasn’t there so I’m gonna give you a pass.” No dance company or sports team is going to let you perform or play first cast/string if you don’t have the skills and technique to back you up. You aren’t going to get a $20K raise because you are living beyond your means or life for you just plain sucks balls. In real life you have to work hard, pay your dues, be stronger, better, and smarter than the others who are vying for that trophy, job, pay raise, or good grade. Our world has become a playground for complete apathy and entitlement and it’s doing NOBODY any favors. In the words of one of my favorite comedians, Dennis Leary, life sucks get a fucking helmet.
Those Victoria’s Secret models have not ended up on that runway because they just sauntered up after getting their Venti half-caf macchiato and on a whim they thought, “That looks like fun. I love those feathery angel wings and I have a shit ton of followers on my Insta so I definitely should be up there with Gigi and Kendall!” They may have been born with the facilities—height, lankiness, a distinct look, a thigh gap—but they have been modeling and working their tiny, perfect little asses off for a long time. They train physically to be in top form. If they are one of the select few to be given that Angel status, it is not because they half-assed their way through life or by sheer birthright.
I will never, ever be as tiny as one of those models. I am 100% okay with the fact that if I wear corduroy pants I can easily start a fire from the excessive inner thigh chafing in a flash. (It's actually illegal for me to travel in the states of Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, New Mexico and the Dakotas during the dry season.) I have never had a 6-pack other than the mess of flesh that resembles a pack of hot dog buns on my back. (Thank you, Spanx.) I often have DBS (Double Boob Syndrome) from my sweater puppies spilling from the top of my bra like that exploded can of Pillsbury biscuits that rolled out of your grocery bag in your trunk in August. Even if I worked out with a trainer 5 days a week, had my jaw wired shut, bought a tapeworm off the internet from a witch doctor in South America, and picked up an $800 a day coke habit, I would never be able to take so much as a step onto that Victoria’s Secret runway. It has never made me mad. This may be an unpopular opinion based on the Era of Entitlement and Participation Ribbons but I don’t want to see anything but those lithe, perfect, possibly part alien goddesses rocking that runway with homely Ed Sheeran crooning his heart out alongside them. There ARE women of all shapes and sizes in this world and I accept and embrace that, albeit in the most non-lesbian way ever. Why ruin a good thing to pacify this hoard of oversensitive jag bags who are boo hooing like the whiney bitches they are??
I have fat friends, transgender friends, friends with acne and cellulite, friends who are proud to wear a bikini in public with less than perfect bodies, gay and straight friends, feminine and masculine friends, friends with scars, friends who are above a size 0. They are cool and real and AMAZING. But guess what? They don’t deserve to be a Victoria’s Secret Angel just because society is screaming for this flat out equality. It’s just fact people, so please don’t start a boisterous witch hunt and start picketing in front of my house with flaming torches, “Angel Lover” signs, and water balloons full of Hellman’s mayonnaise to chuck at my windows. This is part of life, REAL life. Fairness has become blasphemed to derail the definition. “Impartial and just treatment or behavior without favoritism or discrimination”. Sometimes you need to pull up your damn big girl panties, which are likely not from Victoria’s Secret but you probably saved a bunch o’ dough using that Kohl’s cash (go, you!), and GET OVER YOURSELF.
The outfits those models wear are specifically created for them. These are not cute little lingerie sets in all sizes you will find at the mall on Black Friday. The diamond-ruby-sapphire million dollar bra will be bought up by some Arab tycoon to be worn by one of his 8 wives in the privacy of his own mansion in Dubai, you never had a shot at bargaining with a sales girl and her pink tape measure to “just let you try it on for fun”. It’s a FANTASY. It’s high fashion and opulence, a visually stunning masterpiece. That’s it. End of fucking list.
My holiday spirit is a little bit crushed, not unlike (spoiler alert) discovering Santa isn’t real. You have ended a good thing, Victoria’s Secret. Our society of keyboard warriors and protesting pacifists are nothing but big, fat bullies and you have succumb to their trash talk and empty threats. There has been talk that the show may be revamped or not even broadcast on television. I don’t have Kanye’s cell nor a million bucks so I probably won’t score a seat if this spectacle makes its way back to that glorious, Swarovski-encrusted runway. And in all likelihood if you DO choose to alter the lineup to include body diversity and whatever else is de rigueur in the misrepresentation of society, count on your ratings dropping even lower because this misshapen, middle aged chick will NOT be tuning in.
An Angels Fan Girl Whose Wings Have Been Crushed